


I Swear, It Was Aliens!

by Darkwhisperings



Series: Speedwriting [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aliens, Gen, Paranoid Jazz, This wasn't editted, Tinfoil hats, Transformers with potty mouths, first time posting, speedwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkwhisperings/pseuds/Darkwhisperings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glitch in our favourite saboteurs cortex, courtesy of his most recent black ops mission, leaves him more paranoid than usual.  This bought of paranoid most definitely didn't involve fear of abduction and tinfoil hats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Swear, It Was Aliens!

**Author's Note:**

> Speedwriting prompt from the lovely R.Herring:  
> Perceptor and Jazz/ tin foil hats/ I swear, it was aliens!
> 
> I mean, how can you not write paranoid Jazz with this prompt. Written in 60 minutes, and definitely not edited. Isn't that the point?

Just one…more….micron- “Perceptor?!”

Fraggit. “Yes, Jazz? As you can see, I’m quite busy at the moment. Prime really need some progress on these solar energon converters by the end of the orn-“

“Yeah, I dun care, bot. I gotta more pressing concern than some nerdy science slag.” Jazz drawled, grabbing the tool Perceptor had been using. With a scowl and a weak protest from the scientist, he tossed it over his shoulder.

Perceptor finally spun around to face the saboteur with narrowed optics. Black ops; those mechs were all fragged in the head. He shouldn’t be surprised by it anymore. But still, “Hey! I needed that. Besides, you’re third in command here… you should be concerned about our ever dwindling energy reserves. Because, since you seem to have completely forgotten, energon powers both us and our weapons.”

A slow smirk crossed Jazz’ features, as the saboteur straightened himself from his lazy sprawl against the door frame. With predatory grace, he fixed the other mech with a piercing glare before crossing the room to lean against the scientist’s desk, “Yah see, I got this…slightly embarrassing problem… Per-cep-tor..”

The way that Jazz slowly enunciated his name and invaded his personal space was innerving. “And what might that be, catch something nasty from one of your…morally questionable interrogations? Because you could go to the medical wing for that. I’m sure Ratchet would be more than happy to assist you.”

The smirk fell from Jazz’s face so fast that Perceptor instinctively leaned as far away from the saboteur as he physically could.

“No. No medbay.” Jazz whispered, slowly glancing over each shoulder before leaning in close to the scientists audial, “I…think I’m being watched.”

Perceptor’s optics brightened, “Jazz, there is an entire crew complement currently assigned to the Ark at this moment. And you’re the third in command, of course you’re being watched.”

Jazz sighed with a slow shake of his head, “Nuh uh, not like that. I feel like I’ve been hacked, and someone is observing my every move from inside my head! And sometimes, I hear someone talking to me, but I can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Oh! And the other day on the bridge, I was bent over the navigational console checking the jump coordinates before we bridged, and I swear someone was feelin’ up my aft, but when I turned around there was no one there-“

Perceptor dropped his face into his hands with a sigh. This must be some sort of joke. “Jazz, please just leave and let me get back to my work. I have no time for your edition of this cycles prank war-“

“No. I swear, man! Something funny is goin’ on in mah head!” Jazz sputtered, grabbing the sides of Perceptor’s face and forcing him to look him in the eye.

“Okay fine, Jazz. There is something seriously wrong with you. It’s aliens. But you needn’t be concerned, there is a quick fix. They are tapping into your communications array remotely. All you need to do is cover your audial horns with aluminum and all your…’feelings’ will cease to exist.” Perceptor spat sarcastically, turning back to his desk to resume to his work.

Jazz stared wordlessly at the back of the scientist’s helm with overly bright optics, before desperately fleeing the room.

Perceptor glanced over his shoulder at the saboteur’s quick departure, before shaking his head and immersing himself in his project. At least the spy was gone. 

___

 

Prowl pressed his thumb against the pad in his hand, signing off on the last report of the cycle. Fluttering his door wings, he killed the lights in his office and stepped out into the hall. He issued the command to lock the door and turned on his heel to head back to his quarters for much needed recharge time. However, a supply closet down the hall was open, with stuff haphazardly being thrown out the door. Strange. True to his name, the tactician silently approached the closet. 

Just as he reached the door, items stopped crashing into the floor and hitting the opposite wall, and it became suspiciously quiet.

“Ah hah!”

Frag. That sounded like Jazz. With a quick glance at his chronometer, he guessed that the third in command was probably half in the bottle.

Grabbing the door frame, Prowl leaned into the room. The saboteur was leaning against one of the shelving units, enthusiastically tearing at some flimsy metallic substance. “Jazz. What are you doing?”

The other mech started, looking up from the haphazardly shaped aluminum in his hands, “Boss bot! Uh, looking for this!”

Prowl raised an optic ridge. Honestly, he probably didn’t wanna know; he was too tired for this. “…Just clean up the mess in the hall when you’re done.”

With that, he turned towards his quarters, hoping that what he just saw was hallucination product of lack of recharge time. 

 

___

 

When Perceptor exited the lift on the bridge, he really did not expect to see what he saw. Which wasn’t surprising, considering the scene he just walked in on. He just came to deliver the progress report of his latest project to the Prime.

Jazz sat perched on the command chair, with some sort of flimsy aluminum contraption sat atop his helm. A tinfoil hat, a quick web search supplied. He locked optics with Optimus, who was standing across the bridge, with a concerned look painted on his face. 

[I already called Ratchet. He’s on his way,] Optimus patched through to his private comm link.

Perceptor smirked, rounding the console to stand in front of Jazz. He really was having a hard time stopping himself from laughing, “Hey, Jazz? Uh, what’s on your head?”

“Uh, it’s a tin foil hat. Just like you told meh too….and it works!” 

Snap. Private image capture for later, just in case Wheeljack didn’t believe him. A quick glance over his shoulder. The entire bridge was watching them, and Optimus had a wide grin on his face.

“I swear to Primus if Prowl crashed, again, I’m flushing him out of one of the airlocks- oh.” Ratchet stops mid rant, immediately pulling out a scanner and running it over the saboteur, “Well that explains it, the wires in his somatosensory cortex are out of place. Fragger’s probably been hallucinating since his last mission. Primus knows what caused it, with the slag he pulls”

Optimus approached the medic, failing to hide his amusement “You’ll make sure he…uh…makes a full recovery?”

Ratchet sighed and nodded his helm, ushering a muttering and delusional Jazz off the bridge.

Perceptor snorted, handing the datapad he originally came to deliver to Optimus. After a brief consideration, he sent the photo-capture he took to Optimus. And, for good measure, sent it to the saboteur, with the caption, “I swear, it was aliens!”

He wanted to make sure the saboteur remembered the aliens after all.


End file.
